


Just to screw with him.

by Somewillseekforgiveness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7727587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somewillseekforgiveness/pseuds/Somewillseekforgiveness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's beginning-ish sixth year, and Harry has a test tomorrow. All he wants to do is sleep before Hermione drags him off to study again, but someone has other plans.</p><p>Note: so sorry for no indents...can't figure it out. First time posting. Despite growing up in the Neopets generation, I never did learn html coding :/</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just to screw with him.

It started with a sound so soft that Harry could just barely hear it over his own breathing as he lulled himself into sleep.

The dorm had been empty when he walked in, on account of it currently being dinner time. Normally he would scoff at the idea of missing any of the unimaginably delicious meals that the house elves prepared, but he could barely keep his eyes open, and he knew that Hermione would start harping him to revise more after dinner until curfew. He had come back from the (quite full) library after a long day begrudgingly revising with Hermione and Ron. Hermione had gone mental trying to cram as much knowledge in her head as possible, as per usual, even though she was decidedly better off than nearly everyone in their year. She had insisted that they spend as much time as possible revising. Harry was half convinced she was just trying to keep them exhausted and out of trouble. Or maybe to distract him from the shit that had been going on. She knew that Harry had much more pressing things to worry about—like figuring out what that bugger Malfoy was doing sneaking about the castle—but she must have figured being forced to focus on school would be comforting. It wasn’t. Sometimes, Harry just had to come to the dorm during dinner, get away from everyone—especially Hermione this time of year—, and let go into sleep, where, if he concentrated, sometimes nothing would disturb him.

Then came the peep—nothing more, really—from the bunk near the door, in the corner. And then another one. Some rustling, a giggle, a few poorly-hushed whispers. Harry wasn’t sure why there were other people here, and it irritated him thoroughly, but he decided to ignore them. There was a long period of silence after that, and with a contented sigh, Harry turned over in his bed, facing the wall opposite the door, and settled back down into it. For a standard issue mattress, it sure was comfortable. _Thank you, cushioning charms,_ Harry thought groggily.

Just as he was about to fall blissfully into sleep, it started, and instead of groaning and shoving his head into the pillow to muffle the sounds like he’d heard others complaining about having to do, Harry was transfixed and horrified. It was bad enough that he had his Transfiguration exam in the morning that Harry was bloody sure he would fail, but, of course, that wasn’t enough satisfaction for his vicious bad luck.

The sounds, this time coming from the next bunk over, were positively obscene. Breathy sighs, soft moans, sheets rustling, ragged breathing. Harry didn’t dare turn over to face what he knew was happening. Neither of the participants—Harry could tell there were two—sounded quite like girls, and that alone was enough to set off an uncomfortable heat through his body. Maybe if he stayed very still and breathed as evenly as he could, the two wouldn’t catch on to their own lack of privacy, and he wouldn’t be accused of being a voyeur.

This seemed like a very good plan to Harry at the time—he might even be able to fall asleep if he could just cast that damn silencing charm without appearing to move—that is, until the two started talking to each other. Why it didn’t occur to him to stop them there, catching them in their embarrassment, Harry would try not to understand.

“Oh…Fuck. Yes,” one of them hissed, in time to the thrusts that Harry could now hear slightly shaking the bed frame.

One particularly hard rock of the bed resulted in a loud whine ending in a chuckle. A sigh breathed out, too loud. Harry’s heart pounded harder, and he felt lightheaded. He was not supposed to be witnessing this, but if he moved as if to signify he was awake, they would know he’d been listening.

“Fuck, you better be careful, or you’re gonna wake…,” a voice whispered worriedly, muffled slightly. The voice was raspy, practically dripping with sex, and Harry dutifully ignored what that did to his body.

“Oh, what a shame that would be,” the other boy drawled sarcastically, as the thrusts continued and he let out a few mewls.

Harry froze as he finally recognized the voice. Horror and something else entirely slid down into his stomach, pooling heat: it was Malfoy. Malfoy was fucking someone—not just someone, a male someone—literally right next to him. Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.

The other boy laughed softly. “You sick fuck, you like that idea, don’t you?” Where did Harry know that voice? It has to be a Gryffindor…otherwise how would Malfoy get into the dormitory?

“Maybe I do,” Malfoy whispered with nonchalance. Harry thought he could hear a flutter in his breath and a hitch in his voice as the next thrust rocked the bed even harder than before, but he couldn’t keep thoughts in his head for very long, it seemed.

“ _Merlin_ , Cormac, you’re going to kill me…fuck. Harder.”

There it was again, Harry’s incessant shitty luck. Not only was Malfoy—Draco Malfoy, his arch enemy—fucking a man, in the bunk next to him, but that man was someone Harry wasn’t entirely sure didn’t have it out for him. All because of the stupid Quidditch tryouts…He had frankly been too busy lately to worry much about that, but it seems he should have. Harry cursed inwardly. This couldn’t at all go well for him.

As the thrusts continued, Harry recognized Malfoy’s grunts and small pleas overlaying McLaggen’s deep tones. He had assumed that Malfoy would be the one topping in this arrangement, but it looked like he was wrong in that. The realization sent a shock from his gut downward. Uncomfortable pressure built up as Harry tried valiantly not to think about why the thought of Malfoy getting fucked by a man was turning him on instead of disgusting him at this point.

“Wait a second, Malfoy. We’re right next to…” Harry heard the realization creep up in McLaggen’s voice, and he sounded intrigued and slightly disgusted. “You want him to wake up, don’t you? Won’t he be mad? Or grossed out?”

Harry froze again, as he was in the habit of doing that night it seemed; he knew they were talking about him.

“Oh, please. Like you’d care if he got _‘grossed out’_. You’d probably like to…sock his arrogant face … _oh yes, like that._ For giving Weasel your spot. Besides, he’d probably get off on it.”

So this was Malfoy using McLaggen’s beef with Harry to get what he wanted. He supposed he couldn’t really expect anything else from a Slytherin, but it still got his blood boiling, in more ways than one. _Wait, what?_

“If you’re dragging me into some…personal vendetta, Malfoy…” McLaggen was angry, but his words were punctuated by quick, hard thrusts. Malfoy grunted in time.

“You Gryffindors and your honor… nothing so dramatic, McLaggen. Just fuck me,” Draco argued impatiently. McLaggen hummed like he wasn’t convinced, but if the sounds coming from where the bed met the stone floor were any indication, he wasn’t too put off, either.

And it was getting Harry much, much hotter than he cared to admit. Slowly, biting his lip, careful not to move in a way that was unnatural to the sleeping form, Harry slipped his hand into his pajama bottoms and onto his cock. Relief poured into him, and he had to stifle a moan into his other hand (which was artfully placed as if to be supporting his head). What the fuck was he doing, jerking off to Malfoy? It made Harry sick to think that he was playing right into Malfoy’s hand, letting him get in his head. Even if Malfoy couldn’t know for sure, Malfoy would win. But Harry couldn’t stop himself. He moved his hand at the wrist to avoid shoulder movements, and brought himself closer and closer to release with every movement of his fingers. It wouldn’t take long.

“Ngh…Cor—FUCK. Shit. Oh, do that again.”

Harry, inadvisably, allowed his mind to picture what Malfoy looked like, getting fucked out of his mind less than a meter away. That stupid, perfectly placed hair would be a just-shagged mess, his face and chest flushed, grey-blue eyes wild and pupils blown. The opposite of put-together. His long fingers scrambling to find purchase on McLaggen’s strong, muscled back, leaving trails of red with his fingernails. Or, better yet, his wrists held above his head, fingers clenched, by McLaggen’s callused hands, as he writhed and arched into his brutal thrusts. _Stop. NOPE. Not happening._ But it seemed Harry’s hands and imagination had wills of their own as he listened to Malfoy’s helpless whimpers at McLaggen’s slow, steady pace.

“Fuck me faster, you ponce. Ngh!”

“Patience, Draco. I want to make this last.”

Malfoy whined forlornly, and it sounded like his arm was moving, rustling the sheets.

“Don’t touch yourself,” McLaggen _growled_. Harry almost choked on his breath, but somewhat gracefully recovered before he totally gave himself away. “You come when I tell you.”

“Fuck you--ohgodricyes.”

The back and forth reminded him sickeningly of their own battles, just decidedly more sexual, and Harry didn’t want to think at all about the connection between the two dynamics. Could it be that Malfoy got off on their dynamic, on Harry’s insults, his anger, on provoking him and controlling him? This time Malfoy seemed all-too-willing to give in to McLaggen’s will. So what was it about, really? Harry shivered. Nonetheless, Harry had obviously made some assumptions about Malfoy—and McLaggen for that matter—that weren’t really valid. Like, that he liked girls, or that he wasn’t for taking it up the ass.

As McLaggen continued his tortuous pace, Malfoy was letting out strings of languished moans and the occasional choked sob when Harry assumed McLaggen had hit a good spot. Not that he knew anything about such things.

“What would Potter do if he woke up right now?” McLaggen asked. Harry realized with a start, analyzing McLaggen’s tone, that he must be teasing Malfoy. Harry knew then that Malfoy wasn’t only doing this to fuck with him. He was getting off on it.

Harry sensed this was about to get a whole lot more uncomfortable for him.

Malfoy cried out softly and managed a breathy sentence, “Fuck…He’d…probably be wanking and hating himself for it.”

 _Shitting mother of all fuck._ Did he know? He had to. Harry’s chest burned with the effort of pumping his heart so fast. Why, oh why, couldn’t he just stop them? Why, oh why, was there no one else here? Lucky me, a private show, he thought wryly.

“Oh, would he?” McLaggen said, laughing, oblivious to Malfoy’s real meaning.

“Yeah… he’d—shit. Yesfuck—Ngh.”

“I bet his dick would be so hard from listening to you put on a show for him, you little _slut._ ”

“Ngh…”

“He’d try to deny it, get all uncomfortable with his Savior morals and _‘I wasn’t listening to you, that would be disgusting,’_ and whatever-the-fuck, but in the back of his mind, all he would be thinking about would be holding you down, and fucking you into the _floor_.”

Malfoy cried out. “ _Fuck_ , Cormac…you’re gonna make me come…”

Harry swore in his mind, narrowly holding back a groan as his cock twitched and leaked under his subtly moving hand. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was getting close, too, and he didn’t want to think about how he would keep himself quiet when he finally…

Suddenly, McLaggen sent off on a faster, harder rhythm that was literally moving the bed almost a centimeter with every thrust, and Malfoy was unabashedly crying out now.

“Ohhh fuuuuckk yesyesyes….”

Skin slapping against skin and McLaggen’s grunts reverberated in the room and layered over Malfoy devolving into wordless babbling, and it jarred Harry. He knew he would never be able to get that sound out of his head. It was a wonder no one had come to investigate the sounds, but perhaps they had put privacy wards on the room. The sickening wrongness of it obviously didn’t faze Harry much, however, because with a carefully stifled whimper, he reached a blinding climax and came all over his hand. Tremors wracked his body and threatened to expose him. Harry was sure his breathing had visibly sped up, but he thought he may be safe in the dim light. Malfoy finished with a delicious cry, breathing coming in ragged spurts, and Harry’s weary mind imagined him flushed and tired, with a satisfied glow about his face. McLaggen grunted Malfoy’s name as he came, too. As his heart slowed down and his body recovered, Harry’s ears strained to analyze their movement over the labored breathing and nervous chuckles.

“Um…I think you should…”

“Right. Got it.”

“Wow, Potter sleeps like a rock. I can’t believe you didn’t wake him.”

“Yes, a true miracle.”

There was a lot of rustling as the two of them carefully repositioned themselves. Padded footsteps led away from the two beds, and a body whom he assumed was McLaggen’s flopped back on a bed in the corner, his own bed, if Harry wasn’t mistaken. Another pair of footsteps led themselves nearer to Harry’s bed and he started to panic. Mercifully, before Harry could stupidly decide to turn himself in, Draco leaned in close to his ear, hot breath brushing against his skin. Harry shivered. McLaggen was already snoring in the background; they were alone.

“Don’t think I can’t nearly smell you stalking me,” Malfoy spat out in a whisper. Harry could just imagine a sneer on that pointed face. For once, it filled him with fear. “Thought I would show you what I really get up to when no one is looking. Good night, Potter. Sweet dreams.”

Malfoy chuckled and walked softly out of the dormitory, and Harry was left with a nauseating mix of dread and pure, searing arousal. His worst fears were confirmed: Draco knew. And suddenly, anger surfaced. Malfoy was a manipulative little git and a tease. Harry tried to find pleasure in the thought of hexing him to shut him up, imagining his dumb, smug face twisting in fear. But all Harry could think about now was how Malfoy would look with his perfect lips wrapped around his cock. Harry could only think heatedly about making Malfoy come unraveled, vulnerable and begging, with strategically placed kisses and held down wrists and filthy, whispered words. He’d make those empty threats and attempts to rile him up into helpless moans real quick.

 _Fuck, where did that come from?_ Harry groaned, realizing then the extent of Malfoy’s victory as the door closed with a creak. Malfoy had been so assured of Harry’s helplessness and impending defeat that he hadn’t even bothered hiding how much he enjoyed the thought of Harry watching. He had been demanding in bed, just as he thought he’d be—not like he’d ever imagined that or anything—but he hadn’t tried too hard to fight McLaggen’s domineering dirty talk. He was taunting him. That was when Harry knew just how much trouble he was in.


End file.
